


Low-Riders

by Grimmy88



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellis has no clean boxers, which means the kid's going commando, which means Nick constantly catches glimpses of his hips when he yanks his jeans back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low-Riders

            Nick closed the door behind him slowly, forcing the click into subtlety. He stood, free hand still on the wood, eyes trailing over the expanse of his front room, ears waiting, and after several moments deemed it safe enough to cross to the couch where he lowered himself quietly.

            He placed his coffee cup onto the table and then reached for the newspaper that had been left out for him.

            “Nick!”

            Groaning, Nick gave up his stretch for the paper, realizing he wasn’t going to get the quiet he wanted so he could read it anyway, and slunk back into the couch, slouching until his hips were almost off the edge of the cushion beneath him.

            “Niiiick!”

            “What?” A little less pissy than he was after but it was early and he had taken only two sips of that damn coffee so far.

            “I…!” There was some rustling, the sound of the drawers in a dresser being drawn in and out, one not smacking fully which meant there was probably a shirt or something in the way that the brat didn’t care to fix. “I ain’t got any clean boxers!”

            “And?” Nick straightened his posture and cast a glance behind him towards the hall.

            Ellis stood, using the wall to shield his lower body even as his head and shoulders peeked out from around it.

            “Well… are ya gonna do laundry?”

            The conman stared at the half-naked man, searching the sharp eyes and then the slack-jawed face for any deliberate sign of sarcasm or even humor. He found none and for once those blue eyes were as blank as the rest of the face they sat in.

            “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

            “What?”

            “The washer and dryer are both in the bathroom.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            Nick shook his head, incredulous. “Are you telling me you can’t do your own laundry?”

            One of Ellis’ hands came to wrap around the edge of the wall, fingertips pressing white.  “Well…”

            “Yer ma did it,” the card shark slurred for him. He snatched up the paper finally and opened it, not caring what he read so long as his mind was somewhere else.

            A week of actually living—not traveling—but actually staying, and laying, and remaining with each other in a ‘home’ that didn’t smell like smoke or have four wheels was already an annoyance.

            Granted, living with Ellis was more enjoyable than his parents or wife had been. Mostly because with the hick he was at least guaranteed some sex.

            Then again at least with his parents he didn’t have to cook or clean or do the goddamn laundry apparently.

            And there was no point in comparing the hick to his ex because that bitch sure as hell didn’t even ask if she could’ve helped with anything. He could at least give the points to Ellis considering how badly he’d burnt his hands not two days before.

            Alright, but still, not knowing how to throw some dirty clothes in a washer with some soap and fucking turning it on?

            “Nick.”

            “No.”

            “But I ain’t got any boxers!” 

            “That sucks.” Nick turned the page.

            He heard the mechanic grumble, the slight squeak of his bare feet on the hardwood floor as they disappeared back into his mostly-unused bedroom.

            When they sounded again they were softer, socked, and obviously sliding as much as they could. The immature brat was going to fall over and kill himself one day.

            Apparently that day wasn’t the current one—instead the hick plopped down next to him, leaning the weight of his torso against the gambler’s shoulder.

            “Whatchya readin’?”

            “Can’t you go play a video game or something?”

            “I’m hungry,” his lover mumbled. “Wanna go get breakfast? I’ll pay.”

            “No, you won’t,” Nick replied. “You just want me to do your laundry.

            “Or show me… But I wanna stack-a pancakes an’ I know we ain’t got any.”

            Nick waited, reading the same sentence five times until Ellis shifted and then shoved his forehead against the bone in the older man’s shoulder. Stupid, because it hurt the kid more than Nick most likely, but annoying nonetheless.

            “Ow,” Ellis announced.

            “For fuck’s sake just get your goddamn shoes.”

 

            Nick didn’t like places like IHop or Dennies or any of those craptastic lines of ‘restaurants’ focusing their prowess with and on breakfast food. When they’d been on the road he hadn’t protested, of course, but now that he was forced to remain in one area—one he knew fairly well at that—he was going to utilize something he didn’t find in every state.

            So he pulled up to a small, brown building humbly labeled ‘Grandma Sally’s’ and parked. He figured at least anything cooked by a grandmother couldn’t steer them wrong or make them go stampeding towards the toilets.

            Ellis didn’t seem to care for any explanation, he just hopped from the Jag and hustled to the door. Nick drew a breath and exited after him, walking through the door that the younger man patiently held open for him.

            Once inside they were seated almost immediately. _Almost_ because the hostess, in grabbing their menus from a small alcove in the wall, turned back to Ellis, who she must’ve found cute or something, and gave the kid the once over. But as quick as her eyes were moving they stopped suddenly, an eyebrow quirked up, and she turned and led them to their table. Ellis hadn’t seen a thing and that was enough for Nick to wonder if he had seen it as well.

            When he let Ellis proceed in front of him the confusion evaporated.

            Because Ellis, no-boxers-in-my-drawer-Ellis, had decided to go commando. And he’d decided to do so in jeans without a belt. And unfortunately for Ellis all of his jeans were just a little too big for him in the waist.

            And of course the kid was wearing one of his old, short t-shirts. Of course.

            And unluckily his pants had decided to punish him for it all.

            They had slipped down past the boy’s prominent hip bones, hugging instead at the narrow hips and the perk of the kid’s ass desperately. And that had just managed to stop them before the boy’s light dusting of pubic hair. Barely.

            As soon as the boy was seated and Nick had glanced around the room, wordlessly combating any lingering stares he sat on the opposite side of the booth, smug smirk firmly in place and wondered if he should mention it.

            …Seeing as his shoulder was still panging just the slightest bit he decided to focus on picking up the menu.

            Their waitress came and left, their drinks on the way, and Nick gave the laminated paper in his hands one glance over and then set it aside to peer around the restaurant again. No eyes met his own.

            Judging by the customer selection old Sally liked to cater to her own peers. There were three elderly groups, mostly composed of women, a few solitary men, and one aging couple behind Ellis who had chosen to sit on the same side of their booth. The wife was obviously younger, less brittle and frail and hunched. She was cutting her husband’s meal as he spoke.

            Nick frowned, wondering if arthritis would ever strike him that badly—not being able to hold a playing card or a fork or even freakin’ toilet paper again?

            The bill of his lover’s had cut of his stare. Ellis would get it worse, he decided—hands, elbows, knees, maybe even his hips. Those currently-bare hips.

            “Take off your hat we’re—…”

            “In-a restaurant, yeah, yeah.” The hat disappeared from sight under the line of the table.

            Jesus, and the fact that it would be this ignorant hillbilly taking care of him didn’t help either.

            Their waitress rejoined them—an elderly lady who probably had more business with a family than balancing trays and plates. She placed Ellis’ orange juice in front of him and Nick overturned his mug for coffee.

            His roommate, of course, ordered the largest pancake stack they had, forcing a smile to Nick’s face even if he didn’t want to acknowledge how charming a twenty-five year old buying a heaping pack of pancakes like some child really was. Not that it needed extra attention, however, since their waitress—Betty—endearingly added ‘honey’ to the end of her affirmation.

            Nick ordered the more ‘adult’ meal labeled ‘Sunday Breakfast’ and did not receive the same kindness.

            Ellis busied his fingers freeing his utensils from their napkin-rolled prison before casting his gaze about. “Not a lotta people here.”

            “Surprising, considering how early geezers get up in the morning.”

            His partner grinned at him and then leant forward across the table. “Yeah, an’ this place smells like old people, too.”

            “We’ve smelled worse.”

            “I don’t mind how they smell, most the time,” Ellis said slowly, as if correcting himself. “My grandma died when I was little so I only remember a little-a her. But Keith’s grandma was younger on accounta all the people in his family had kids when they were young.”

            Nick took a sip from his coffee but made sure his eyes didn’t leave the mechanic’s face.

            “We usedta go there all the time ‘cause she always had cookies bakin’ an’ stuff, y’know a normal grandma… An’ she smelled funny, sure, but you get-ta likin’ it ‘cause-a how nice she was an’ all the food she made an’ stuff.”

            The conman flicked his eyes back over the broad shoulders before him to where the old lady was wiping her husband’s face. And the fact that he didn’t wrench his gaze away was commendable enough but he guessed when you have to deal with a certain man-child he knew whether it be puking, drooling, and not to mention his favorite, the anal sex, you get used to it.

            Oh, and that zombie shit had probably helped, too.

            Ellis was staring at him when he came back to himself and therefore took the opportunity to turn and follow where his gaze had been back over his own shoulder.

            “Subtle.”

            A white grin flashed back at him a moment later. “Cute, huh?”

            “Cute?” Nick gave a snort. Decrepit, maybe. Feeble, gnarled, old, and dying together. …Loyal, apparently. “I don’t know if watching old people eat is something I’d label ‘cute.’”

            “I meant them bein’ together an’ cleanin’ each other an’ all.”

            He knew what he meant. “Sure.”

            “Couple years an’ I’mma hafta change yer diaper.”

            “I’m not old,” Nick snapped. “And I have—wait, no. Conversation over.”

            Ellis gave a little laugh, all teeth and bouncing shoulders, and leant back against the red cushion of the booth.

            The _older man_ regarded him coolly. “At least I’ll still have my hair.”

            “What?”

            “Your grandpa looked pretty shiny up there, that’s all I’m saying.”

            “I ain’t gonna lose my hair,” Ellis said, voice low.

            “I guess it doesn’t matter,” Nick continued. “You have all those hats to cover it up.”

            The southerner’s eyes never left him as their plates of food were set between them. When Nick smiled at him and began to dissect his meal, only then did Ellis move to cut his pancakes and drizzle them with syrup.

            “I guess,” he murmured at last. “But at least I won’t shrink.”

            Nick raised an eyebrow.

            “Well, yer dad looked juss like ya when he was younger from the pictures I saw, but—well, I guess bein’ all skinny an’ hunched ain’t a bad thing.”

            “Beats a beer-belly,” the gambler countered, thinking back to the asshole Ellis called his grandfather. “Or maybe it’s not a beer-belly and you’re just plain fat. That’s a shame considering how—OW!”

            Nick reached down to his shin, wrapping his hands around it to apply pressure to the now stinging and probably purpling spot where his lover’s boot had just struck. “You KICKED me!”

            “You called me fat!”

            “I said you were going to get fat!”

            Another kick.

            “Goddammit, Ellis! Knock it off!”

            “Brusin’ yer brittle bones, old man?”

            “You little—…”

            “Excuse me!” Betty flounced over suddenly, far too quickly for someone her age. “Please, keep it down. There are other people here.” And then as if sensing that neither man was paying attention to her, mainly because Nick was too busy glaring and rubbing his leg and Ellis grumbling while stabbing his food, she decided she’d have to steal it out from under them. “You already made enough of a scene when you first came in.”

            After she had left Ellis’ head shot back around from where he had been watching her depart. “Huh? What’d we do?”

            “Pull up your pants, kid,” Nick responded, voice forcibly lowered by the proximity of his coffee mug.

            The hick glanced down immediately and turned red just as quickly, his hands slamming down and chest arching up as he repositioned to get his jeans back over his hips.

            “Why didn’tchya tell me?!”

            “Forgot.” Nick dug into his meal as his lover fell into silence.

            Their meal dragged on in a begrudging silence then. Nick focused only on chewing, his eyes on the couple behind his lover while Ellis was too happy to focus on his pancakes and not his embarrassing situation.

            Gradually green eyes fell back to blue, Ellis smiled, and very simply that was it.

            Conversation developed again between the two men as they finished their meals right up until the bill was dropped in front of them and the plates were cleared away.

            “Mind your pants,” Nick teased, standing first, hands searching through the money he had pulled from his pocket so he could leave a good tip for Betty.

            “Shaddup.” But two callused hands gripped tightly onto the blue hem.

            The conman decided not to respond, instead he walked to the small counter at the head of the restaurant and paid calmly, finding the hick waiting for him in the restaurant’s doorway.

            “I think some of the women were upset to see you leave,” Nick commented, stuffing the green paper back into his pocket. When Ellis didn’t respond the gambler shrugged and reached down to tug the jeans from the white grip.

            The left side came down a little, showing another white to match that of the clinging knuckles before Ellis hissed and yanked the material back up. “NICK!”

            “It didn’t even go that far down,” the older man protested around a laugh. A laugh that he had to swallow as soon as the kid decided it would be better to stomp off than try and win a direct verbal fight with the conman.

            Ellis pulled on the car door. “Unlock it.”

            “I don’t know, I don’t think I want your bare ass on the leather.”

            “Says the guy who wanted-ta have sex in the Jag in the first place.”

            Nick smirked and reached around the hick with the keys to unlock the door slowly, pressing the front of his body against his lover’s warm back. When he withdrew his hand the hick didn’t move to pull open the door. In obvious trepidation Ellis turned his face, allowing his cheek to brush against the card shark’s nose, allowing the lips that followed to press in and then down, again and again until they brushed the side of his mouth.

            Taking advantage of the moment Nick took the boy’s arms within his fingers and turned him gently until he moved on his own. And then their lips met fully and Ellis tasted like pancakes and syrup and orange juice and it wasn’t nauseating like it should be. Even if his lips were sticky.

            Nick continued downwards, using his mouth on his lover’s cheek and jaw line before switching to the stubble of his own cheek against the strong neck and pulse. And Ellis sucked in a breath, swallowed hard, and turned his face. And then heavy hands came up onto the back of Nick’s neck and then onto his shoulder.

            The conman broke away for a moment so he could get the passenger door open. And then he put his hand atop his lover’s head and shoved him down hard, straight into the leather seat. Ellis, who had attempted to brace his fall by catching the sides of the car, plopped down and thankfully laughed the motion off.

            And in the process his pants had decided to resume their low-riding position on his hips once again.

            Nick braced himself, much as his lover had, into the door and let himself hover over the body below him, resuming the stubble-rub on the tight neck, forcing more laughter from the hillbilly. And Nick smiled in return, swooped up to kiss the plump, syrup-sweet lips one more time and then stood upright back out the door.

            Reaching his hands in, the northerner grasped the sleek hips waiting and dragged their weight horizontally across the seat, forcing the lean legs that connected back out into the parking lot. And then he kneeled, bracing one hand on a thigh and the other higher, searching for a taught, smooth stomach underneath that too-small shirt.

            “Somebody’s gonna walk out.”

            Nick agreed but decided against voicing it, instead putting his mouth to better use around the hick’s navel which contracted against him. Tracing his teeth along its circle he dropped his fingers to the hem of those damn jeans and pulled, not needing to unzip or loosen buttons to pull them straight down to the mechanic’s knees.

            And with only a moment’s remorse for no more foreplay or romance he took the tip of the hardening dick into his mouth and sucked, ears open to the sound of his own breath through his nose and Ellis’ low grunts and muffled gasps.

            Now Nick was fairly sure he wasn’t the best at blow jobs. Far fucking from it, actually. There were plenty of occasions where Ellis would buck and choke him or his jaw would get tired or he just didn’t feel like having some warm liquid shoot into the back of his throat and throw him into a coughing fit. But the hick never complained, even if Nick was sure he was secretly looking at porn or something to get better himself.

            And Ellis was getting better at it, was willing to do it more frequently, and was always more than willing to use it to aid in his persuasions. And hell if Nick was going to be one-upped.

            And hell if he was going to let his half-naked lover get away from being further publically embarrassed.

            Using his fingers to grasp what he couldn’t with his lips, Nick rolled his wrist, effectively furthering a roll into his fingers along the flesh, urging it up and down with first his suction and then the slow bobbing he could manage. And when he drew back he let the edge of his tongue dance around the blunt, reddening, head of that now fully-erect cock.

            And then he waited.

            And Ellis knew what he was waiting for. “…Suck.”

            Nick, command given, returned to the ministration. It was one Ellis gave often, preferring to be milked rather than teased, preferring the attention around his organ’s tip because that was where he was most sensitive. And right now he knew the kid wanted to hurry, wanted to leave before they were discovered.

            And the gambler obliged, circling his lips only around the head to suck. And when Ellis bucked up he moved up with him and then back down, and when Ellis circled his hips he followed the motion, breathing in between sucks, rubbing in between movements. And it didn’t take long—it never did with the hick—never long, only repeated.

            The first shot, of course, hit him square in the back of the throat, but he steeled himself, refused to let his throat contract and instead continued the suction until finally the hips beneath him settled and the only thing moving rapidly was his lover’s chest.

            Nick pulled back, spit out what he could, and swallowed the rest without a cough.

            “I hatechya,” Ellis informed him.

            “You cum in the mouths of guy’s you hate often?” The older man leaned down to kiss him but stopped with the sound of a man’s yelling behind him and when the words ‘call’ and ‘police’ reached his and his lover’s ears he was bounding up, leaving Ellis to gather himself as he rushed to his side of the car.

            Before Ellis could shut the door he was revving the engine and peeling backwards. “Don’t know about you but gay orgies in a jail cell is where I draw the line.” Flashing the old fuck the finger as he passed Nick peeled into the street, narrowly missing a fucking Honda that should’ve moved anyway, and speeding down the street, heart pounding in his ears.

            Beside him Ellis was laughing.

            “It’s not fucking funny, if they got our plates…” Nick trailed off, slowing his speed and eyeing the roads about them.

            “Awright, well, you worry ‘bout whether they got the plates or not,” the hick murmured, leaning across the seats, hands busy at the dress pants beneath him and then his mouth busy at the cock beneath him.

            Nick almost hit another Honda.


End file.
